


Soul of Fire, Forged Anew

by RiceArchbishop



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Post-Volume 3 (RWBY), Slow Romance, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiceArchbishop/pseuds/RiceArchbishop
Summary: In the midst of her post-injury depression after the fall of Beacon, Yang is given the opportunity to get back on her feet by a remarkable woman. Getting used to the changes that come with it is a long, difficult process, but along the way she has a chance to make a new connection.A story about transhumanism, self-worth, and punchy lesbians.





	1. Chapter 1

The first connection was the second most painful experience of her life.

All her nerves on fire, a searing blade pressed into what suddenly felt like an open wound again. She heard a sound coming from somewhere else, a million miles away. Right before everything went dark, she recognized it.

Someone who sounded a lot like her was screaming.

An interminable time later, she was awake, aura and drugs doing their best to keep the pain at bay. It hovered just outside her sphere of consciousness, pressing in just enough to make itself known, to keep her from sleep. It was the worst kind of bad dream, the kind that becomes more real when one awakens.

Another eternity. Another moment.

She finally awoke properly for a brief time, her brain registering the presence of light and deciding that this was something that deserved attention. Dragged from the depths of her mental cocoon, she was dimly aware that things other than herself and the pain existed.  
  
Breathing, fortunately, remained an involuntary impulse. Everything else was up to her, and she cracked an eye for the first time in what felt like days. The eye registered blurred shapes, movement, and altogether too much light. It was hastily closed, her head already swimming from excess stimulus.

The pain throbbed again, sending her scurrying back. Maybe she’d try again after another few eons.

A sharp sound, like the slam of a door, roused her after an age. This time, both eyes were slowly exposed to the light. A fraction at a time, they opened.

_Focus. Ignore everything else._  
  
Training. Right, she had done this before. Find a point and zero in on it, make the rest of the world fall away. Usually that was a lot easier with the benefit of berserk rage, but emotions were an alien concept at the moment.

The wood grain of the ceiling would do. A couple of knots stood out, providing a point on which to concentrate. Hardened instinct took over, giving her higher brain functions a chance to sort out the basics of getting the body back under control.

It was a groggy, difficult process, but eventually she managed to twitch her nose. This small victory in hand, she attempted to flex her fingers.

A poor choice, as it happened.

Something was _wrong_ , something was horribly, awfully _wrong,_ her brain was throwing up panic signals as the expected responses didn’t come, what in the world was—

She directed her eyes to the side of the bed.

_Oh._

_Right._

Some part of her subconscious recognized that that should probably be funny.

The pain disagreed. Her mind surrendered again to the darkness.

~~~~~~~~

She knew, now. She knew, and that knowledge wasn’t going to be ignored.

So it was with an effort of will that, the third time she woke, she began to reassemble her psyche.

_Yang._ Her name was Yang, and she was alive.

She’d lost an arm while fighting. Trying to move muscles that weren’t there had caused her addled mind to panic. The pain was still there, but lessened, not the obliterating force it had once been. It was waiting for her, though. Waiting for her to give it an opportunity.

_Keep your guard up, firecracker._

Family. She had family. Sister. Dad. Uncle. Mother?

Teammates…

These thoughts rolled around her mind, always just out of reach of being formed into a coherent whole. There was a person there, a person called Yang, and she was that person. 

At least in theory. Before the pain, before the… _thing,_ there had been… something. A shadow over her mind. It had been related to the arm, somehow. Why was that, again…?

Her left hand clenched unconsciously, forming a fist with the ease of innumerable hours of practice. It felt _good._

A flash of red, a flash of black.

_Blake._

Sadness welled up in her chest, deep and cold. Blake left. Blake had saved her… and vanished. Left her when she’d needed help the most. Then Weiss left… and Ruby… why? What had made them all leave her behind?

The pain saw its opening, whispering the truth in her ear as it claimed her.

She was useless.

~~~~~~~~

She drifted on the endless tides of a dark ocean, pain and sorrow stretching out for miles in every direction. She wanted nothing more than for it to consume her, to sink into its depths and lose _Yang_ again. Yang was weak, a failure, and couldn’t protect what she cared about. Her interventions only made things worse. Ruby and the others were better off without her. 

A memory, unwanted and treacherous, snuck into her thoughts.

_“So... I can be me again?”_

_“You will be different, but you will not be lesser.”_

_“…Okay. I’ll do it.”_

Yang had agreed to this. Whatever had obliterated her self and set her adrift, Yang had asked for it.

_Fuckin’ good for her. Better to forget than live like that._

_…Right?_

Life in a world without agency, without freedom… that wasn’t a life worth living. Yang had thought she could carve her own path, could live and breathe and care and _feel_ , but look where that had gotten her.

Good fucking riddance to Yang Xiao Long.

The tides carried her onward into the nothingness.

~~~~~~~~

She wouldn’t die.

Try as she might, the pain couldn’t kill Yang. Some piece always came back to her, sticking to her soul like a scrap of paper forced against a wall by a gust of wind. A memory, a phrase, a feeling… Yang’s self surrounded her, coming back again and again despite her denials, her attempts to ignore it.

_You can’t deny it. She’s a fighter. It’s what she does._

_Not anymore. Not after this._

_Maybe not just like before. But you can’t put her out that easy._

_She’ll never be whole again. She was lost with that arm._

_She asked for a new path._

_Yeah, and she got it. Here we are._

_Not like that. Remember?_

The pain flared. _No,_ it said, _you don’t want to remember. It’ll be so much easier not to._

She pushed it down, shoving over and around and through it to see what was on the other side. Maybe she was curious. Maybe she just wanted to spite the pain. Maybe Yang was catching up to her. She made an effort of will, a colossal focused attempt to _do_ something, to affect _any_ kind of change…

On her right side, something moved.

_With each hit she takes…_

_I get stronger._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.
> 
> Also, this work has art done by the fabulous Knight-of-rogues, all of which you can find [here](http://knightofrogues.tumblr.com/post/158099409954/my-second-art-project-for-the-rwby-big-bang-this). I'll be linking to illustrations of specific scenes at the end of their respective chapters, so if you want to avoid spoilers don't click that link just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Yang groaned as she cracked her eyes open. Darkness. Darkness she could deal with. It was familiar.

She took inventory. Sore, from lying prone for so long. A dull ache in her left arm—that was probably an IV. The searing pain she’d felt so acutely for the past eternity had been replaced by a subtler throbbing where her arm terminated. Trembling with the effort, she pushed herself up on her pillows, attempting to see it for herself.

Where there had been only a stump before, flesh now met metal. Panic threatened to take her again, but she pushed it down. _You asked for this. Now deal with it._ She took several deep breaths as she’d been trained to, centering herself before allowing her eyes to return to her right side.

A steel docking port covered the end of her natural arm. A miracle of modern engineering, apparently, connecting to her damaged muscles and nerves to allow her to control her new prosthesis as she would flesh and blood. Scar tissue extended past the steel cap, straight lines indicating where the doctor had opened her up to place sub-dermal sensors mixing with jagged ones left over from her body’s natural healing process. The arm itself wasn’t terribly complicated. In fact, it was almost skeletal in design, a bare minimum of electronics and parts in a compact package.

She looked at it for several seconds, a mix of emotions bubbling in her gut. Fear, sorrow, revulsion, a bit of anger, and a massive, alien anxiety at the knowledge that this was part of her now. Instinctively, she tensed.

The fingers of the metal hand clicked as they formed a fist. Yang’s brow furrowed as she inspected it. It was the most unnatural sensation in the world, being able to _see_ yourself move but not _feel_ it. That… that was going to take some getting used to. Hesitantly, she tried to get the arm to rise. It did, jerkily, bending at the elbow to a ninety-degree angle. She settled it on her stomach, the weight foreign, but oddly comforting. It was certainly better than the nausea-inducing sensation of trying to move something that wasn’t there at all.

_Okay. This isn’t the best, but I can get used to it. Let’s see what it can do…_

One by one, she moved each of the metal fingers. Their movements were clunky and graceless: with no way to know how much resistance each would put up and no tactile feedback, she was forced to just try to move them as hard as she could, resulting in each one jerking back and forth between curled and extended. It was also odd to be able to move each finger independently. She could curl down her middle finger and still keep all the others straight; nothing moved unless she explicitly wanted it to.

The really difficult part was the thumb. Yang had never really appreciated how much of using an opposable thumb was second nature. She frowned as she attempted to get the mechanical replica to make a correct fist. She repeated the process a couple of times, flipping the hand between open and closed. It felt strange. Without feeling in her fingers, she couldn’t tell when she was pressing against something or how much. The servos just kept trying to close until she stopped willing them to do so.

_This is no good… I need some kind of basis for how much force I’m generating._

Carefully, she brought the prosthesis up to wrap around her left bicep. _Close,_ she told it, and it immediately snapped shut, squeezing firmly, but not enough to hurt. The basic model probably didn’t have enough power behind it to cause any damage.

With a frame of reference established, she experimented with squeezing at different strengths. First, a light grip, just enough to feel. Then firmer, like an insistent friend trying to get her attention. Finally, she squeezed as hard as she could, as though she were about to lift and throw someone.

It certainly wasn’t the same as having a real hand. She flicked between the three modes as she considered it. There was basically no lag between her desires and the hand’s responses, which was good. However, the hand definitely moved faster than her normal fingers, which was somewhat disconcerting. It all stemmed from that numbness, the inability to _feel_ her fingers move.

She held it in front of her face, trying to open and close it as gently as she could. It moved in fits and starts, with little of the dexterity of a normal hand.

Yang sighed as she lay back again. Precision and delicacy would come with time, hopefully. She glanced at the yellow bracelet lying on her bedside table. That was another problem: without feeling or pain, it would be very difficult to tell when she was punching something too hard.

_That’s assuming I ever punch anything again._

_Don’t kid yourself. You’re Yang. You’re going to get into fights._

_That was the old Yang. I might still be her, in some ways, but… things are different now._

She looked down at the arm. Did having some semblance of her self back make her any less useless?

Her stomach interrupted that train of thought, growling at her loudly.

_Oh yeah… I wonder how long I was out._

Slowly, fighting off cramps, she swung her legs out of bed. She stretched as she stood, working out a kink in her neck. Unconsciously, she brought her right arm up to massage it, and froze at the feeling of metal on skin.

She let out a long breath as she moved it away, relaxing by degrees. That was also going to take a while, most likely. She grasped the IV stand in her other hand, wheeling it out into the hallway, noting with some despair that her grip was nowhere near as strong as it should have been. Months in bed doing nothing had taken their toll. She flexed her normal arm experimentally as she made her way slowly toward the kitchen.

Her biceps still snapped into readiness on her command, but they started to flutter in under a minute. A frown creased her brow as she pulled up in front of the pantry.

_Well, not like I could have expected anything else… That’s one plus of this thing, I guess. Metal doesn’t atrophy. Then again, if it straight-up breaks… I guess I’ll worry about that if it happens._

She reached out with the new arm, trying to get it to extend smoothly. That was easier said than done: as she could only track her progress visually, she was constantly guessing how hard she was supposed to push outward and overcorrecting for her mistakes.

Frustration boiled in her gut as she clonked the arm into the handle for a fifth time. She let it continue, indulging the emotion as it worked its way towards anger. Even as she finally managed to get the metal fingers wrapped around the handle, she let it build, willing the hand to squeeze harder. After months of not feeling _anything_ , of sitting in an empty hole in her bed, not allowing herself to think about the way everyone had _left,_ the way she had _failed_ , the fucking _pity_ her family had subjected her to…

It felt good to feel rage again.

_Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this, I hate this arm, I hate me, I hate EVERYTHING!_

“ _GRAAAAAAAH!!”_

With two quick jerks, she yanked the robotic arm away from the handle, forced the fingers into a fist, and slammed the fist into the wall.

She stood there breathing heavily as the flames in her hair died out. Eventually, she pulled back, looking at the place her fist had struck.

Nothing. Not even a dent.

“Yang? Please tell me that’s you…” Her father’s head poked around the doorway.

She sighed. “Who else would it be, Dad?”

Then she was enveloped in a hug from which there was no escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.
> 
> .


	3. Chapter 3

He insisted on making her a sandwich. She wished he wouldn’t, wished that she could show that she at least could do that much for herself, but her body was all too willing to jump at the chance to rest again after the spurt of activity. She hated that, too. It only confirmed what she knew.

Taiyang sat across from her as he deposited the pile of vegetables and bread on her plate. She picked it up with her left hand rather than attempting to fumble it with the replacement. It rested in her lap, twitching occasionally as she tensed unconsciously.

Her dad, to his credit, at least realized she wasn’t in the mood to talk. He kept up a pretense of looking at his scroll, shooting concerned looks her way whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. Yang tried to concentrate on the sandwich. Taiyang had always been about as good at hiding his concern as he was at hiding everything else. It was nice to know someone cared, but it still rankled, reminded her of her weakness.

_Cut that shit out. You were never as independent as you liked to think. You needed the team in ways they never needed you._

_After all, why else would they have left?_

She sighed as she finished off the food, dreading the conversation that he would surely want to have. She didn’t think she could handle his pity at the moment, though.

Reluctantly, she met his gaze, trying to think of a way to stall. “How long was I out?” she asked. Simple question, nice and straightforward.

Relief washed over her father’s face. “Just about seventy-two hours. You came up a lot sooner than the doctors told me you would. I know, ah… I know it must have seemed a lot longer.” There was something beyond the usual care in his last statement.

Dad never liked to talk about his hunting days, but Yang knew that serious injuries beyond the healing capacity of Aura were not uncommon. Well, she wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to share. She nodded, her expression carefully neutral. “It was… touch and go for a while there.”

He smiled, and she found she couldn’t keep eye contact. “We all knew you’d make it through.”

One word. One stupid little word, but she found her eyes welling up with tears.

“…Who is ‘we,’ Dad?”

“…Honey?”

Her head jerked around to look at him directly again, the metal hand forming itself into a fist in her lap. “I said, what do you mean, _we_ knew you’d make it through? There’s nobody else! Just you, taking care of your broken fucking daughter who can’t even get it together enough to get out of bed!” She was yelling, anger was boiling in the pit of her stomach again, frustrated, impotent rage that turned in on itself and spread like fire through her veins. It made her want to _move,_ to _act_ , to do _something…_

But the fire terminated abruptly in her right arm, bringing her crashing back down. She collapsed back into her chair—when had she gotten up?—as her eyes unfocused and she let the sadness take her. She buried her head in her folded arms as tears ran down her cheeks, sobbing even as she dimly registered the familiar warmth of her father’s arms around her. As much as she hated letting herself be coddled, she couldn’t even summon the energy to struggle.

Eventually, she ran out of tears. She hung limply in her father’s embrace, feeling that horrible emptiness consume her again.

_I was an idiot for thinking I could come back from this. Everyone else is better off without me._

_“You just gonna quit that easily?”_  
  
The memory came unbidden. It was from early in her training, in the woods behind the house, sparring with—

_Fucking Qrow._

_“You don’t survive in this world by being a quitter, y’know.”_

At the time she’d taken his bait, gone after him with everything she’d had, and been stronger for it. Now, though… maybe surviving wasn’t an option anymore.

“Well, for one,” Taiyang said, jolting her out of her reverie, “there’s your friend Weiss.”

She looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “…Huh? I haven’t talked to Weiss since Beacon.”

He stepped back, cocking his head. “Sorry, what? She sent you this.” He patted the arm. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

That… was a very good question. “I… I don’t know. The days all kind of blend together.”

In an instant he was bundling her back towards the hallway. “You should rest, try to think about it.”

Weakly, she pushed against him. “Dad, no, stop. I can’t be back in bed right now. Could you set me up in the living room?”

“Of course, honey.” Their course shifted, and a moment later she was lowered gently onto the couch. “Just let me know if I can get you anything.”

“Sure. For now I think I need some time alone.” Thankfully, he bowed out of the room with a quick peck on her forehead.

Alone again, she looked at the arm cradled in her lap. She toyed with the idea of exercising it like she had been before, but it seemed too much work at this point. Instead, she let her head loll back and tried to remember… she was sure she hadn’t seen Weiss, so who had brought this, exactly?

~~~~~~~~~

_If someone had asked her to imagine a more intense, six-foot version of Weiss, she probably would have come up with something close to this. The imposing woman even drank her coffee in exactly the same way. It was almost disconcerting, really._

_“Er… Ms. Schnee?” Yang offered, attempting to break the ice._

_Her guest looked at her, one eyebrow slightly raised. She set down her cup, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “’Ms. Schnee’ is for inferior officers and party guests. Call me Winter.”_

_“Right. Winter. Not that I don’t appreciate hearing Weiss is okay, but… you’re with the military, right? This is way out of the way for someone on deployment.”_

_“You are correct, but this detour was requested by my sister and approved by General Ironwood. Both would like to see your condition improve.”_

_Yang shifted uncomfortably. Getting better sounded nice, in theory, but there was no changing the past, no getting back what had been lost. “Broken” was her new status quo. “That’s nice of them, but I think they’re wasting your time.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”_

_Winter’s expression went from “polite” to “severe” in an instant. She rose, two brisk strides taking her to where Yang was seated. Yang’s fist clenched instinctively at the invasion of her personal space, her whole body tensing as Winter’s eyes swept over her, appraising her critically. Nervousness fluttered in her stomach; nobody she didn’t know had been this close since—_

_Then Winter was gone, resuming her seat across the room and taking another sip of her drink. “You are not the person Weiss described,” she said. “But she had to leave rather rapidly after the fall of Beacon. And…” Winter’s gaze wandered to her lap for a moment, a faraway look in her eyes. Her words grew softer. “Despite all her… schooling, she has yet to come face-to-face with this kind of trauma.” She blinked, her eyes snapping back to Yang’s._

_“The General and I both understand the severity of circumstances like yours, just as we know that recovery is not a simple or easy process.”_

_Taiyang had said similar things previously, but this was different. Coming from someone she didn’t know, someone with a military background… it was impossible to just brush off as she had the expected platitudes from family._

_“So, to the point,” Winter said. “In the ship that brought me here, there is a surgical suite prepped and ready to provide you with a top-of-the-line prosthesis. Weiss would very much like you to take advantage of it.” She paused, considering. “Well, it would be more accurate to say that she expects you to. But as I said—for her, this would seem an obvious choice. In reality…”_

_In reality, there wasn’t really a reason to. Yang couldn’t bring herself to keep eye contact. “It wouldn’t change anything,” she muttered. “I don’t deserve it.”_

_There was a definitive_ clink _of a cup hitting a saucer, and a moment later a gloved hand was gently but firmly cupping her chin. She started at the contact, but found herself eye-to-eye with Winter not a foot away._

_“Listen to me, and listen well, because I will not repeat myself._

_“The mettle of a soldier is not decided in a single moment any more than a war is decided by a single battle. Failure is not the end. I have seen more battles lost, more missions aborted, and more hopeless situations than I care to think about. I am still here._

**_“_ ** _If you wish to learn to live with the handicap, that is your choice. If you decide to take advantage of my offer, that is likewise your choice. Both will let you continue the fight. But self-pity is the only true defeat. If you wish to deny this truth until the next catastrophe comes for you and yours, simply because circumstances placed you against an opponent outside your skill, then and only then will you ‘not deserve it.’”_

_Something was stuck in Yang’s throat. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge it. A part of her mind screamed at her to shake Winter’s hand off her chin, to get out, to go back to her room where it was safe, where she could hide from all her failings. Another part wanted to lean into the touch, to embrace the fact that someone who didn’t know her could care enough to tell her this. Before she could make up her mind, Winter was straightening again, leaving her frozen in place._

_Belatedly, she realized that this was the first time she’d felt_ anything _in months._

_A shiver ran down her spine as she swallowed again, fighting back the tears. “So... I can be me again?”_

_“You will be different, but you will not be lesser.”_

_“…Okay. I’ll do it.”_

_Winter nodded briskly. “Very well. The doctors will be in to help you prepare soon.” She made her way to the front door, pausing with one hand on the knob. “The woman my sister described sounded like someone I would admire,” she said, glancing back at Yang’s seat. “I look forward to seeing who she becomes.”_

~~~~~~~~

Yang took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. Beside her, she heard the metal fist opening and closing to the rhythm of her breathing. Winter had been at least half-right: this was definitely _different._ As to whether or not it was as good as having her old arm, that would have to wait and see. Making a fist unconsciously was getting easier, so there was at least that. Fine control was annoyingly clunky; maybe she could ask Weiss for an upgrade when she saw her again.

 _Weiss._ Her friend still believed in her, enough to send Winter on a long mission to help her. Between the Schnees and General Ironwood, she had gained both the prosthesis and perspective that she could not, and would not, ignore. Doubt still haunted her mind, chewing at the edges of her psyche, but with Winter she had felt _something_ again. That alone gave her the motivation to at least _try_ , to claw her way back to functionality after months of sitting numbly, trapped in a mental spiral.

The prospect of regressing to that pattern scared her. Yang was not accustomed to being _scared,_ and it wasn’t even the only thing threatening the fragile self-worth she’d managed to recover.

_Black and red; a flash of pain; an awful, stupefying numbness that pushed icicles into her heart._

She took another breath, this one much more shuddering than the last, attempting to touch each of the metal fingers to the palm in order. Focusing on that helped her ignore the wave of nausea that came with the memories, helped her avoid curling into a ball and crying.

But along with the shivers of fear and panic, there was something else. Something deeper than the anger that used to drive her in battle, something altogether different from even the rage she’d felt when someone messed with her hair. It swirled within her, simmering. She felt her hair start to ignite as her thoughts coalesced into one pointed expression.

_Fuck you, Adam._

Spite. That was the name for it. Well, if she couldn’t find it in herself to be happy about this change, spite would have to do. She imagined fastening the metal hand around Adam’s throat, ripping off his mask to see the panic in his eyes, growling _“you should have killed me”_ in his face as he realized what he’d done…

Yeah. Spite would work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.
> 
>  


	4. Chapter 4

“You sure you’re okay, honey?”

Yang ground her teeth. “ _Fine,_ Dad. Let’s just go through it again.”

Her muscles ached from the exertion, her lungs felt like they were seizing up, and the interface for the arm felt like it was stabbing her, but the pain kept her upright, kept her focus tight. Three weeks of training wasn’t anywhere near enough to offset months in bed, but every time she’d felt like taking her father’s offer of a rest mid-session, she’d heard Qrow and Winter’s voices in her head.

_Giving up that easy, firecracker?_

_You will be different, but you will not be lesser._

There was no going back, no thought of being the same as her old self. But she’d wrapped her hand around a goal: prove that this new Yang was worthy of Weiss’ generosity, of Winter’s respect.

To that end: training. And in her family, a large part of “training” always meant “sparring.”

Step, punch, step, crouch, spring, roll, punch.

Step, dodge, step, dodge, crouch, punch.

Step, swing, duck, uppercut.

Step, feint, swing, block, step, grapple, leg sweep…

Land hard on the new arm. Swear, grimace, swear again.

Landing wrong on a limb and not feeling any pain in the limb itself was still disorienting. She sprawled on the ground as Taiyang got to one knee, offering her a hand. “That was good! Just, y’know, work on the landing.”

Despite being hard and unforgiving, the ground was surprisingly comfy after several hours of close combat drills. Yang sucked in a long breath, letting it out with a groan as she sat up. She ignored her father’s outstretched hand, pushing herself up with the new arm—she’d gotten plenty of practice at that particular motion. “Yeah. The muscle memory’s there, I just don’t have the power or nuance I keep expecting.”

His expression was concerned—it was rarely otherwise during these sessions—but he nodded firmly. “Getting close, then. How are the, y’know, non-metal muscles doing?”

Three solid weeks of physical therapy, slow and grueling though it had been, had brought back some of her old strength. According to the doctor, it was important to get her flesh-and-blood arm stronger than the metal-and-plastic one before taking the next step. She flexed, breathing in the satisfying feeling of having some amount of power again, coiled and ready to strike. “I’m ready. I want these training wheels off.”

A slow smile tugged at the corners of her father’s mouth. “That’s my girl. C’mon, let’s do the unboxing.”

The box in question had been waiting in the living room ever since she’d woken up. She’d refused to look inside, not wanting to actualize a potential reason to rush things. Not that Taiyang would have let her, but relying on him to keep her in line would have been tantamount to giving up.

He’d snuck a ribbon around it sometime since she’d last looked at it. Of course he had. Jerk. Sliding it off, she popped the lid and let her eyes slide critically over the contents.

The arm she was wearing couldn’t hold a candle to the piece of tech resting in the foam before her. Where her current prosthesis was minimalist and somewhat crude, the new arm was sleek and solid. The joints were all fully concealed behind bendable materials, the fingers were a far better approximation of human digits, and the forearm looked a lot sturdier.

_Something I can feel good about laying across someone’s jaw._

A hand landed on her shoulder. “Niiiiice,” her father said appreciatively. “We did not have these kind of upgrades when I was a kid, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Yes, Dad, you’re old. I know,” she said, flicking the release on the cap that melded flesh and metal. The basic model fell with a clank to the floor. There was a moment of dizzy panic as her mind attempted to register the loss of something it had grown accustomed to, but she grit her teeth and aligned the new arm with the docking port.

_KA-CHACK_

Losing the old model had been a bit disorienting, but connecting the new one was downright painful. Her nerves made their displeasure known as the new limb hooked into the interface, making her draw in a sharp breath through her teeth.

Finally, the sensation faded, and she was left looking at the gleaming new arm. Cautiously, she tried to wiggle the fingers. Without a moment’s hesitation, the metal matched her thoughts.

Yang’s eyes widened as she brought the hand to eye level, smoothly bending it at the elbow and watching it respond to her every minute adjustment. After going so long with the poor sensitivity of the trainer, the new precision and flexibility felt like a breath of fresh air.

Better than that, it felt like _freedom._

She curled the fingers into a fist, winding up for an experimental punch. Before she could let it loose, however, Taiyang coughed significantly behind her.

“I know you’re eager to try that out, but I thought you might like some force feedback.”

She turned to see her father standing with both arms outstretched, a wooden board held out in invitation. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she pivoted, taking aim. In one smooth motion she brought the fist up, back, and forward, smashing through the board and stopping just short of Taiyang’s nose.

He grinned at her, and she felt fire surge through her veins as she smiled right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	5. Chapter 5

The smell of dissolving Grimm was familiar to her: an odious, unpleasant stench that always managed to linger on her clothes. On long expeditions, it wasn’t uncommon for an entire hunting party to slowly start to reek of it. Most hunters developed a mental block for the smell for the sake of their sanity 

Winter had never really mastered that skill, had never been able to stop her lip from curling when a fresh wave of black smoke hit her nostrils. Perhaps it was a failing on her part, and it certainly hadn’t helped on team hunts. Too long in close confines with a group that constantly smelled of ash and death did nothing for her nerves or her temper. The promotion to specialist had been a boon in that it meant that she now worked alone more often than not, and was called upon for simple hunts much less frequently.

Still, every so often the basic aspects of the job needed doing.

A flick of her sword sent the corpse of the last Ursa sprawling into a snowbank. The former nest smelled pungently of monster, plumes of black smoke drifting lazily into the air. In a few minutes, they would combine into a fairly impressive smoke signal, alerting the nearby town that the danger had been cleared for the time being. Atlesian villages were always decently well-defended, but something had recently swollen the Grimm numbers in this area, attracting the attention of the military and academy alike.

 _Well, they can pore over the details of the nest all they like now,_ Winter thought as she checked her scroll. She frowned at the time; sudden calls for detours to kill a few dozen Grimm always played hell with her meticulously-planned schedule. _Nothing to be done for it. Ironwood will have to wait for his report._

The trip back to the village was swift; another perk of working alone was the ability to travel as fast as her glyphs could take her without a party to slow her down. Ten minutes later she was on a bullhead bound for Ironwood’s airship, filling out the post-mission paperwork on her scroll. Upon landing, she was nearly carried to the general’s office by a pair of enlisted soldiers; apparently he’d been waiting.

Surprisingly, it was not just Ironwood sitting in the airship’s small room. Sitting in front of his desk, focusing intently on the teacup in front of her, was a familiar blonde figure. She turned to face Winter as she entered, and in the flashing violet eyes she saw far less fatigue and far more resolve than she had seen those months ago on Patch. There was a sharpness and a steel to them now that she found undeniably intriguing.

“Miss Xiao Long?”

The blonde’s smile was tired, but lively nonetheless. “Just Yang, if you don’t mind,” she said, standing. “I’m sorry I never really introduced myself. I wasn’t in my right head at the time.” She held out a hand for Winter to shake—the metal one, she noticed. The sleeve of Yang’s jacket was rolled up to the elbow on her right side, exposing the robotic arm, but kept down to the wrist of her natural arm.

 _A conscious decision, then._ Winter couldn’t help but throw the general a half-second’s glance as she shook the proffered hand. Yang’s grip was firm, but not tight, with few of the jerky fluctuations she had come to expect from those with new prostheses. _Looks like she’s taken to it well. Good for her… although I hope she’s not here to catch a ride to Atlas; we won’t be making it anywhere near Weiss anytime soon._

“Hunt went well, Specialist?” the general inquired, bringing her attention back to the present.

“Yes, sir. I can prepare a more detailed report of the resistance I faced if Research needs it, but I’d prefer to get back to my main duties.” Not a subtle hint, as hints went, but she and Ironwood had never had a need for subtlety.

“That shouldn’t be necessary. On your next mission, however, I’d like you to take Miss Xiao Long with you.”

Winter started in surprise, her eyes snapping to Yang, who winced. “I, uh, didn’t want to ask like that.”

A frown creased Winter’s brow. Yes, she had felt badly for Yang: a young huntress did not deserve to be so rudely exposed to the worst parts of job so soon, but if she had somehow twisted the meaning of their conversation to infer that she was going to be receiving special treatment… “And how _did_ you want to ask to barge in on Atlas military business, exactly?”

Yang’s wince intensified, but she didn’t cower, even if she was clearly forcing herself to maintain eye contact. “First, just… thank you. Weiss and Ironwood might have enabled it, but… you did it. You broke me out of my own head when nobody else could, and you didn’t even know me. I don’t know that I could do that for someone else.”

The frown eased fractionally. “You’re welcome, of course, but-“

“And if you don’t want to have me around that’s fine,” Yang said quickly, holding up both hands. “But I want to pay you back. Ironwood and Weiss as well, but…” An invisible weight seemed to settle on her shoulders, finally forcing her to break eye contact. “I can’t really face Weiss right now,” she said in a hollow voice.

Winter’s expression softened as she remembered the last she’d heard of her sister. _You might be surprised, Yang. She could use a friendly face about now… but it’s your choice._

Lips pursed, she examined the young woman in front of her. It was out of the ordinary, that was for certain, but adapting to sudden changes in circumstances was part of the job. She didn’t doubt that she _could_ help Yang acclimate to her new status quo: becoming part machine was all too common an occurrence in the Atlesian armed forces. She’d seen more than her fair share of soldiers deal with the new reality of a robotic hand, arm, or leg, and was fairly good at recognizing the ways in which the stress could start to wiggle its way into the patient’s psyche, chewing at their nerves until they couldn’t take it any more. Some gave up on rehabilitation and simply shut down, some tried to destroy their prostheses, some panicked at the worst possible times, losing control of a limb in the midst of combat.

It was not something she had any interest in bearing witness to, or allowing to happen, again. There were people _more_ qualified, of course, trainers and psychologists whose job it was to deal with cases like Yang’s.

 _Like_ hers, but not exactly. If Yang thought she owed a personal debt, denying her the chance to fulfill it could do more harm than good. Winter searched the other woman’s eyes. That sharp intensity, like the point of a welding torch, was still there, but there was something else in her expression: a hunted, desperate look that spoke of a rapacious hunger to be acknowledged.

She noted again the purposeful display of the prosthesis. The inherent defiance of the world present in that act, the determination to not only admit to her changes but display them proudly… Winter admired that kind of gumption.

And, she found, she rather wanted to see it in action.

“You follow my orders, you don’t ask questions, you don’t get in my way, you keep up or are left behind,” she said briskly. “We ship out in eight hours, be on the deck at oh-six-hundred ready to move, and move fast.”

Yang’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you. I really needed to… thanks. You won’t have to babysit me, don’t worry.”

Ironwood nodded, already turning his attention to his scroll. “Excellent. Ms. Xiao Long, you probably need a rest after your trip. I’ll have someone send you the location of an empty berth; I recommend you take advantage of it while you have the time. Specialist Schnee, I’ll need to make some changes to your brief now that you’ll have a civilian with you. Have a seat, please.”

Winter pulled out a chair as Yang backed out of the office, nodding at her. “Thanks again. I won’t let you down.”

A wan smile tugged at Winter’s lips. “We’ll see.”

~~~~~~~~

The breath that Yang had been holding finally left her in a rush as the office door closed behind her. She doubled over, bracing herself on her knees as the rush of adrenaline that had come from finally seeing Winter again faded.

_She said yes._

A thrum of victory surged through her like nothing she’d felt in months. After practicing that speech for weeks as she hitchhiked, stowed away, and otherwise wrangled rides to track down the huntress who had saved her, she’d finally gotten to deliver it. And _she’d said yes._ She focused on that feeling, savored it, rolling the memory of Winter’s intrigued smile around in her mind.

It wasn’t over, of course: now that she had her chance, the need to prove that she deserved it burned in her chest like wildfire. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted someone’s approval so badly.

_Doesn’t hurt that she’s hot as fuck._

Yang jerked upright, a blush lighting her cheeks as the thought caught her off-guard. She moved quickly down the corridor, avoiding eye contact with the soldiers she passed.

 _Where did that come from?_ she wondered. _I mean, yeah, she’s attractive. Obviously. In a sort of disappointed-older-sister way. Woof, that must have been hard for Weiss to grow up with… but she’s, like, way old._ Qrow _knows her, and he’s basically ancient. Not my type. Definitely. This is just, like… what’s that thing where you find someone who saves you from something unreasonably attractive? Vacuan Hostage… something-or-other. That._

She nodded to herself as her scroll buzzed. A message from someone identifying as Ironwood’s secretary pointed her toward a small cabin deep in the ship. Reaching the elevators, she punched in the noted floor.

 _Besides, it’s not like she would ever have any interest in me. I’m just a friend of her sister’s who needs some help. Weiss asked, she did her job, and that job was me._ The blush suddenly intensified. _Shit, no, not what I meant. Stop that, brain._

She set an alarm on her scroll and collapsed backwards onto the small cot. Exhausted as she was from the trip, her eyes started to close almost immediately. But, just before she could lose consciousness entirely, she realized something.

She hadn’t thought about the arm since the moment Winter had walked into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	6. Chapter 6

They were average-sized, as Beowolves went, and every bit as predictable as she’d become accustomed to. Lunge, bite, swipe, lunge, swipe, bite. The rhythm of the fight was almost soothing, like a familiar high-octane lullaby. Not being able to fire from the right wrist was a little awkward, but Yang could have taken out this pack with one arm tied behind her back anyway. And that was _without_ backup.

With her _current_ backup… she had to admit to being a little distracted.

Winter was a marvel to watch in a fight, with all the grace of Weiss in her best moments honed to a laser precision, plus a storm of summons that turned her into a one-woman army. She moved across the battlefield like a streak of white lightning, setting up glyphs far in advance of when they were needed. Some she never even used, mere contingency plans to help her recover in the event of anything unexpected. Half general, half whirlwind of destruction, it wasn’t like anything Yang had seen before, and it was entrancing.

A bit too much, as it happened.

The Beowolf came up on her right side while she still had an eye on Winter, taking her by surprise. Instinctively, she lashed out with her right arm, trying to pull a trigger that wasn’t there. There was a _crack_ of metal on bony faceplate, and then the thing was on her. She flailed, off-balance, managing to at least get her gauntlet up and around to blast away the killing swipe as it tackled her to the ground. As she hit the cold dirt and the air left her in a rush, she saw jaws descending, an inch from her face—

The creature flew off of her with a surprised yip, speared on the point of Winter’s sword. The older huntress barely acknowledged the save, spinning around and firing off to tangle with two more that were coming up fast from behind where Yang had fallen.

 _Shit._ It was all her brain could come up with in the moment, and it was woefully inadequate. She picked herself up as quickly as she could, turning to find another opponent, but by the time she’d gotten her wits about her the battle seemed to be through. Winter was casually dismissing the creatures she’d summoned, walking over to her with a coldly professional air.

Yang winced. That was it, she’d messed up, Winter had had to save her, she’d be chewed out and dismissed…

“You’re uninjured? Good,” Winter said. “Our next waypoint is three klicks to the west, in a forest clearing. Be there or don’t.” She turned on her heel, conjured a glyph beneath her feet, and sped away.

As she quickly became a small figure in the distance, hopping from glyph to glyph, Yang blinked. _She… she didn’t say I was worthless. That’s something, I guess._ A bit stunned by the simple briskness of Winter’s response, her thoughts inexorably turned to the moment the fight went wrong.

 _I was distracted watching her. Did she notice? She must have noticed. Maybe that’s why she left, to give me a chance to fight solo._ Frowning, she looked down at her new arm. She hadn’t had to use it in real combat until today, hadn’t had the chance to put it up against the Grimm and see how it did. The loss of her other gauntlet was a problem: sparring hand-to-hand with Dad was one thing, but she’d tailored her fighting style to having both. One more problem of this new normal that she’d need to solve. _Well, Winter’s clearly not going to solve it for me. I wonder how many Beowolves are between here and camp…_

Allowing herself a single sigh of self-pity, she pointed herself in the direction Winter had gone.

~~~~~~~~

It was well past dark when she stumbled into the camp. Winter already had a modest fire going, with a pile of logs set aside beside her. Sharp blue eyes glanced up at her as she trudged toward the fire. It had been a long day of fighting, flailing, and failing to figure out how to work with only one gauntlet when she wasn’t continuously reminding herself of that fact.

“Still alive?” Winter asked. “Good. Get this chopped,“ she gestured to the pile of firewood. “Don’t use your left arm.”

Part of her bristled at being given such dismissive orders when she was bone-tired. The frustration of getting into scrapes with Grimm all day and feeling like a novice again was compounded by Winter’s attitude, and half of her longed to rebel, to lash back out, to maybe just try and belt Winter across the jaw.

She fought it down. Winter was the only one who hadn’t pitied her yet, hadn’t treated her like she was less capable than before. In sullen silence, she crouched down by the woodpile and frowned at it intently.

_Without Ember Celica, I don’t have a lot of ideas for busting these. Well, let’s try the classical option…_

She stood one of the logs upright, straightened her metal fingers, and brought the arm around and down, crashing the side of her hand down with a splintery _thud_ onto the end of the log, which remained firmly in one piece.

Frowning, she inspected the damage she’d done. The wood had dented, but hadn’t split. Fortunately, no damage seemed to have come to the prosthesis either. She tried again with the log lying lengthwise, but again her chop was met with a minor dent.

 _At least this doesn’t hurt like it would if I tried it with the left,_ Yang thought ruefully. _C’mon, think outside the box._ She placed the log in the crook of her elbow and squeezed, but the surface was far too wide to make an impact. _Right. Force dispersed over area means less pressure on each individual point._

That gave her an idea. She set the log upright again, opening her palm once more. _This would work better if they were bladed, but it’s worth a shot…_ Instead of a traditional karate chop, she drove her fingers point-first toward the wood.

This, at last, achieved some kind of split. The tips of her fingers penetrated a centimeter or two into the log, producing a noticeable crack. She grunted with satisfaction, pulling the hand out to inspect for damage. Seeing none, she repeated the maneuver, widening the crack.

 _This is good, but it would take way too long to keep going like this. If only I could use my other hand to pull it apart._ Yang inspected the crack, thinking. If she couldn’t pull from the outside, she’d have to push from within. What she really needed was a wedge, something she could drive into the central hole she’d made. The point of the elbow was too large, and the side of the hand was too thick for the slim crack. She tried both anyway, and was rewarded with nothing other than a slightly throbbing shoulder from attempting to elbow drop the infuriating piece of wood.

Fire started licking at her hair as she eyed the log angrily. _Fuck you, you stupid tree. What gives you the right?_ Growling, she slammed her fist into it wholesale. Hearing a satisfying _crunch,_ she did so again, and again, and again… She lost herself in the burning anger, the frustration of the day pouring itself out into the damnable task.

By the time she finally stopped, the log was in many more than two pieces. She straightened, breath coming in gasps, and reveled in the moment. _Didn’t even need the left arm_ , she thought mildly to herself. She stretched, extending both arms towards the sky…

…And feeling her stomach drop when the metal one refused to bend at the elbow.

A thousand things ran through her mind, but all that came out of her mouth was a yell loud enough to spook several sleeping birds. Panic started to set in as she tried to flex the fingers and found them unresponsive. _No no no no nononononono…_

A hand landed firmly on her shoulder, making her jump.

Whirling around, she found Winter looking down at her calmly. “Easy,” she said soothingly, pushing her gently to a sitting position by the fire. The panic ebbed, just a little bit.

“You’ve probably just knocked something about in there,” Winter said, still in that same low, gentle tone. “Just because it doesn’t feel pain doesn’t mean it doesn’t get hurt. Let me see and we’ll fix it.”

She knelt by Yang’s side, producing a small pouch of tools and examining the prosthesis. With a couple of precise pokes she opened a small hatch in the elbow joint, allowing her to see the inner workings. The tools delved inside, tugging on various cables and finding one loose.

“Ah. Here we are. Relax for a moment, please.”

Yang blinked, realizing that she had been holding her breath. There was something hypnotic about watching Winter work on her, something gut-clenching in the calm of her voice combined with her proximity. She flushed, but managed a long, unsteady breath out.

_Really wish this would stop being an emotional thrill ride._

A tiny screwdriver was inserted into the gap to tighten something unseen, and the arm suddenly loosened, relaxing at the elbow in concert with the rest of her. Winter nodded, satisfied.

“Good. Now, let’s look at the fingers. Try moving them for me, please?”

Yang did so. Some part of her brain dimly registered that she should probably pay attention to what Winter was doing, as she would have to do this herself in the future. However, she found herself just watching the elder huntress’ hands, gracefully switching between tools and gently nudging things back into alignment. It was like the careful control with which Weiss had always handled her coffee.

Thinking about Weiss jerked her back to the present. She made an effort and focused on the inner workings of her own arm, noting how the connections had been knocked out and resigning herself to not being able to go quite as all-out as she had before. Fortunately, it looked like the prosthesis had been designed with ease of service in mind, and it had held up okay against the waves of Grimm earlier in the day, although that probably hadn’t helped.

 _Good that this is happening now instead of in the middle of a fight, I guess._ Belatedly, she realized that this had probably been Winter’s plan all along, to illustrate her altered limitations. _Way less pain… but not invincible. Right._

With a snap, Winter closed the last panel. “That should take care of that,” she said briskly, storing away her tools. “I’ll send the full schematic, as well as a repair manual, to your scroll. Like the rest of you, it needs care, but once you get into a routine of self-diagnosis it’ll get easier. That being said”—she caught Yang’s gaze and leaned close—“you need to know it like you know your own body. If you get caught off-guard by a malfunction you can’t fix when you’re alone and in danger, I will be _personally_ _disappointed_.”

Just like that, she was gone from Yang’s space again, snapping open a bedroll by the fire as if nothing had happened. “I’ll take the first watch. Good night, Yang.”

As she lay down, Yang’s gut was still roiling with a sea of confusing emotions. _That was definitely important, and I should totally follow her advice, but holy_ shit _I can never concentrate when she does that. Dust, I’m the world’s biggest fuck-up. Hopefully tomorrow will involve less embarrassing flailing…_

Sleep came quickly, forcing her ruminations into dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	7. Chapter 7

_So much for the ‘avoiding embarrassment’ plan._

It was mid-morning, and their progress had been again halted by a ranging group of Beowolves. Instead of taking part in the fight, or surfing glyphs on ahead to their next campsite, Winter had elected to simply recline on a tree branch, watching Yang as she tried her best to remember the lessons she’d learned fighting the previous day.

_At least she’s not pestering me with questions like Oobleck. Or taunts, like Qrow used to._

Still, she felt immensely more self-conscious. Her body already didn’t fully feel like it belonged to her, and knowing that she was going to have trouble doing the thing she was _supposed_ to be good at…

It all added up to a very nervous blonde brawler.

The Grimm, fortunately, demanded her focus, demanded that she work on trying to find the best way to deal with not having two gauntlets. Previously, she’d been a perfectly-balanced engine of destruction, straightforward and confident, now she found herself favoring one arm or the other for long stretches. She’d dodge out of direct combat, weave, fire a couple blasts into a group as they came into range, and then turn ninety degrees to bring Ember Celica down on a lupine skull, all while keeping the metal arm tucked close to her chest in a ready position. Then she’d switch stances, tucking her gauntlet away to take advantage of the prosthesis’ superior strength: clobbering Grimm around the middle, breaking limbs, and attempting the same maneuver she’d used on the firewood the night before. That one took her a couple tries to get down: piercing a Beowolf’s hide required more force than she was used to punching with, and extricating the arm before the beast collapsed and took her down with it was _very_ important, as she quickly learned.

 _There has_ got _to be a better way to do this._

 _Balance_ really was the problem. Not just that the extra mass of Ember Celica was no longer matched on her right side, but that she had to use two fundamentally different fighting styles. Ruby probably could have made it work; following Qrow’s school of weapon design had meant training to mix different ranges and rhythms of combat into a single harmonious, flexible style. You could even see it in the way she moved out of combat: flicking from point to point, treating the whole of whatever space she was in as her playground.

For Yang, war and peace had always been very distinct, both physically and emotionally. Fighting was when she came alive, when she burned hottest and brightest, when her casual stroll became a rocket-assisted sprint to close in on her target and her lazy gestures became haymakers. There was a line between _chill time_ and _go time,_ and once she crossed it she was all in, no time for anything more than the moment, the flow of block, punch, and fire that made her blood sing in her veins.

This, though… she couldn’t lose herself in the dance when there were two different beats dropping at the same time, and grooving to both at once went against all of her most fundamental combat instincts.

A pair of slobbering jaws latched around her right arm, jolting her out of her thoughts. Startled, she blew the creature away with a blast from her gauntlet. The other Grimm seemed almost as surprised as she was that she was still alive.

_Huh. That worked out better than I could have hoped, really._

Maybe switching between the two styles _could_ work, if she did it quickly and subconsciously enough. Use her left to cover her right and vice versa, making up for the deficiencies of each with the advantages of the other.

It would be a lot more mental effort, certainly—like trying do math homework and simultaneously write poetry. But it could work. She’d _make_ it work.

She threw herself back into the fight and tried to put her thoughts into practice. One of the most immediate stylistic changes was a major uptick in the amount of pivoting and turning she did: to bring whichever arm was needed into range, more often then not she’d need to twist around. Blasts from the gauntlet helped to whip her around in a new direction, and that momentum gave some extra force to the strikes when they landed provided she timed it correctly.

_I should probably work more on my footwork. Ugh, Dad always said I would need to focus on that someday… I hate it when he’s right._

In short order, only one of her foes was left standing. She tucked and rolled out of the way of its wild lunge, trying to decide how to finish things. A blast to the head would daze it enough to let her pierce its hide, but that seemed… pedestrian.

_If Winter wants to watch so badly, why not give her a show?_

A running start straight at her opponent turned into a twisting dive behind it as jaws snapped shut where she’d been a moment before. With a quick squeeze of the trigger to reverse her momentum, she half-ran, half-jumped up the creature’s back. Two steps brought her to the top of its spine. She fired down as she jumped, flattening the Grimm against the ground. Rather than simply pull back for a meteor punch, however, she turned in midair and fired again, twirling as she fell and accelerating her metal elbow right into the back of the beast’s skull with a sickening _crunch._

 _Nailed it! …Ow._ Even with the point of her elbow taking the brunt of the impact and the cushioning of Aura and a dying Grimm, it was still a hard fall. _C’mon, Yang. Get up and say a one-liner. Impress the hot, scary Schnee._

By the time she found her way unsteadily to her feet, Winter was already standing over her, her expression carefully composed. Yang was sure she could see a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though. _Yes. Score one for the girl with the metal arm._

“Well done,” Winter said, “if a tad extravagant.”

Yang felt the grin forming even before the thought had fully coalesced. “Well, y’know… had to get my _point_ across.”

There were few joys as pure as watching someone realize that they’d been punned. Winter’s face was nothing but placid confusion for a moment, but then her eye twitched, then her lip, and finally she took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. “I… well. Let me see your arm, please.”

Still grinning, Yang held out the prosthesis for Winter’s inspection. She was riding so high on the victory and successful follow-through that it took her several seconds to realize just how _close_ Winter was, kneeling down in front of her to check the arm inside and out. The grin turned into a blush faster than she’d thought possible, and she found herself unable to look the elder huntress in the eye. It was a long, embarrassing minute before Winter straightened once more and Yang got some control back over her breathing.

“Nothing damaged this time,” Winter said, flicking open her scroll. “I’ve sent you the next camp location. I hope to see you there.” Yang caught a glimpse of a smile before there was a flash of white light and she was gone.

Yang worked her shoulder as she watched Winter firing across the terrain. _This… this is getting bad. I can’t keep freezing up every time she gets within two feet. She’s not into you, Yang, and you’ve clearly got Vacuan Hostage What’s-It-Called._

_That doesn’t make it any easier. Why does she have to be so cool?!_

_Just finish the mission, say thank you, and go find Weiss. Then you can spend some time away from her, get over it, and be able to act like a normal human next time you see her._

With a sigh, she resigned herself to another few days of trying to pretend everything was normal. She set off at a jog, trying to distract herself by thinking about how to use the new unbalanced style she’d come up with to travel more expediently.

~~~~~~~~

Winter looked up as Yang entered the camp. She was out of breath, bruised, and dirty, but alive, and looked distinctly proud of herself. “Another fight?” she asked.

Still panting, Yang shook her head as she collapsed by the fire. “Tried… using the arm… to swing from tree branches.” Letting out a _whoompf,_ she sprawled out. “Not all of them held, but it kinda worked.”

“Ah.” Winter stood, circling around the fire to kneel down and inspect the young huntress. _Good that she’s experimenting. Time to see if she did her homework._ “Well, let’s have a look. Sit up.”

Yang hauled herself into a sitting position and thrust her arm out to the side, clearly too tired to fully take in what was happening. Popping the arm’s panels one by one, Winter spent a couple minutes checking that everything was in working order. Clearly, Yang had learned well how much force was too much. Winter allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction before moving on to the night’s lesson.

A couple of tugs and a few twisted wires later, she snapped the panels shut. “There you are.” She moved casually back to her space, Yang grunting her thanks behind her.

It was roughly a minute before she heard the panicked cry.

She looked up from her scroll, one eyebrow raised, as Yang thrashed the arm about, desperately trying to get the fingers to move from their locked positions. _Wait for it… wait for it…_

“Something wrong?”

Yang’s eyes snapped over to her, and she saw understanding bleed through the paralyzing panic. Anger followed quickly after. “You did this? What the _hell?!_ ”

Winter calmly extracted the pouch of tools and tossed it over to where Yang was standing. “If something’s malfunctioned, you should probably fix it.”

Yang caught the tools, the anger in her eyes fading to annoyance. With her left hand, she manually bent all of the fingers of the prosthesis but one. “How’s this?”

Suppressing a smile, Winter cocked her head. “An interesting fix. But unless you intend to _offend_ the Grimm into submission, you should probably get started on something a little more comprehensive.”

Grumbling, Yang sank down and popped open a panel—the wrong one, Winter noted, which was to be expected. Yang hadn’t shown a lot of interest in watching and learning when Winter had fixed her up before. In fact, she had looked basically anywhere but the internals of the arm. That was understandable: most people had an instinctual aversion to seeing inside themselves as it usually meant something was very wrong, but getting over that was one of the shifts that had to be made when you started to need _repair_ instead of _healing._ At any rate, now Yang would have to learn by doing. Smiling to herself, Winter returned to her scroll.

_She’s cute when she’s mad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	8. Chapter 8

If Winter had to come up with the most pejorative thing she could call the Grimm, it would likely be “uncivilized.” There were plenty of shorter, pointier words for it, but that, she felt, was the essence of it.

Of course, it was perfectly natural that the shorter, pointier words were what she fell back to when under stress. And that “surprised and tackled from behind by a giant Ursa” fell into the definition of “under stress.”

Hardly the first time, of course, and she had no doubt it wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t stop her from being disappointed in herself – she was supposed to have complete battlefield control. More than anything, it was embarrassing to be so caught off-guard in front of a civilian. Annoyed, she reached out, taking a half-second to decide what to summon.

The glyph had barely had time to form, however, before a very loud blur of fiery red and yellow speared the beast off of her, leaving her blinking at a patch of sky. She sat up and watched, stunned, as Yang shoved her metal hand through the creature’s trachea. She was surrounded by a shimmering corona, her hair a brilliant, burning yellow. Before the Ursa had even begun to disintegrate, she was off again, a blast from her gauntlet sending her spinning into a crowd of enemies. They toppled against the sheer force of her onslaught.

_This is what Weiss was talking about._

Her sister hadn’t exactly been verbose in her messages, but between the lines of Weiss’ typical strained formality there was a noticeable undercurrent of frustrated respect for her boisterous teammate, the one who took hits and kept getting back up, the one whose casual confidence had buoyed the whole team. In that light, Winter hadn’t been terribly surprised when her sister had asked for her help getting Yang back on her feet. The depressed, wounded figure Winter had first encountered was now barreling around the battlefield in a glorious blaze; clearly she had been even worse off after her injury than Winter had initially thought. Whatever her faults, her sister had always wanted the best for those she cared about. Weiss would never be able to stand seeing such enthusiasm, such unrestrained joy, eradicated from the world.

And it _was_ joy: the thrill of the fight was etched clearly across Yang’s face, tempered only by an occasional misstep or stumble. Clearly she was still getting used to her new fighting style, but she was also continually getting right back up. Winter caught herself smiling, and quickly looked away, composing herself.

 _Be professional,_ she chided herself. _You’re a mentor, not a friend._

A massive explosion in the middle of the field brought her attention back immediately. She was just in time to see Yang deal with the final Grimm, and it was almost as if time slowed to allow her to experience the moment, a perfect snapshot of Yang in her glory: a fiery-haired angel of death delivering a wicked uppercut with her metal fist, a look in her eyes of such intense passion that Winter felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

She looked away again as quickly as her stunned mind would let her, getting to her feet and willing her brain not to fixate on what she’d just seen. Unhelpfully, all it offered instead was the memory of the way Yang had finished the fight the day prior, blasting herself into the air and then back down in the most savagely unconventional maneuver Winter had ever seen. There had been shades then of what she was seeing now, but this was different: more confident, more visceral.

 _Professional,_ she reminded herself again. _You’re the mature one here, act like it. Even if she does have a passion that you’d like to see more of, you’re just here to help your sister’s friend acclimatize._

_Certainly not to see how far that passion goes._

The sight of Yang standing over the bodies of her foes, steam coming off of her in waves, panting with exertion and that gut-twisting fire in her eyes, did nothing to help matters.

~~~~~~~~

Yang’s metal fingers drummed against her knee. Watching them move without her direct command was a little unsettling, but she took solace in the fact that she could take control back at any time.

Assuming she plugged everything back in correctly, that is.

Weapon maintenance had never been her strong suit. Her gauntlets were designed and built to require as little of it as possible, getting by mostly with a regular fieldstrip and grease-down. The arm was on another level entirely, but she was determined not to embarrass herself again. With her scroll propped open on one leg and the tool pouch open on a large, flat rock beside her, she was familiarizing herself with the purpose of each and every reachable part of the damn thing. For the most part it was a trying process of check the manual, poke a cable, frown when the wrong thing moved, poke again, double-check the manual, swear quietly, and repeat. Slowly, however, she was getting it. Her tongue snuck out of the corner of her mouth; she bit down on it to keep it from wandering any farther.

Helpfully, this all distracted her from the awkward silence.

Why Winter had turned terse and professional once again was beyond her, but they’d barely exchanged two words all evening. There was a tension in the elder Schnee’s movements that hadn’t been there before, a studious disinterest entirely at odds with her prior teasing.

_It’s not just because she wasn’t utterly perfect in the fight today… right?_

She didn’t know Winter all that well, but she _did_ know Weiss, and it was _exactly_ the sort of thing Weiss would do. She’d messed up her glyph work in front of Professor Goodwitch once, and been inconsolable for weeks afterwards.

That couldn’t be it. Winter was so effortlessly graceful, so collected, that Yang couldn’t believe she’d beat herself up over a slip-up in combat, even if it _was_ in front of someone she outranked in every conceivable fashion.

 _She’s too mature for that._ _Is it because I kinda lost it?_

That seemed a more likely possibility. Her Semblance had run away with her on the field in a way she hadn’t experienced since the night Beacon fell, and she’d let it. For a moment she’d been as powerful as she’d ever been, fighting to protect a fallen friend and bouncing back rejuvenated from every mistake. The moment had been everything again, an endless _now_ that brought her to her highest highs. Joy, anger, frustration, all of it was absorbed and redoubled by her abilities.

It hadn’t been as satisfying as she’d expected.

After forcing herself to mentally take a step back in combat to switch between her two sides, going back to the full-bore guns-and-hair-blazing mode just hadn’t been the same. The switches from one side to the other that she’d been practicing had felt sluggish, a distant priority behind _punch the next thing in the face do it now do it now now now._ Falling back on old instincts had made her sloppy, as well: she’d forgotten about her lack of gauntlet more times in two minutes than she had the entire rest of the trip. It had felt like she was clawing her way up the side of an icy mountain, and she’d come out of the fight more frustrated than anything else.

She couldn’t just _not_ use her gift, though. Actively suppressing her emotions in a fight would be tantamount to surrendering to the mummifying embrace of the depression. Looking for those highs and lows, diving into the thrill of intense experiences… she was pretty sure that would always be a part of her, new arm or no.

Biting down harder on her tongue, she shelved the thought for the moment and refocused on figuring out what the wire named “auxiliary supination trigger” did.

~~~~~~~~

Winter lay awake, annoyed.

That in and of itself was nothing new; “annoyed” was generally one of her default states of being. Being the subject of her own ire, however, was a less-common occurrence.

Attraction. That was the word for it, plain and simple. She had spent hours processing her feelings on the young huntress currently tinkering with her prosthetic arm, and there was just no getting around it. If she was being honest with herself, and she made it a policy to do so, she was _attracted_ to Yang. It was a problem, but Winter was nothing if not an incredibly efficient problem-solving machine. She began mentally ticking through the important questions.

 _Will these feelings hinder my ability to assess her capabilities and mental status?_ No, certainly not. They might change her reactions to those assessments, but her faculties were in no way impaired. _Will she be a distraction in combat?_ That was trickier. If their last fight was any indication, it was in fact a distinct possibility. But Yang was clearly growing more accustomed to fighting with her new arm; traveling separately was definitely a possibility. It would, however, somewhat defeat the purpose of bringing her along in the first place. Winter frowned at the night sky. _I can deal with it if the threat is pressing enough, and after today I certainly trust her to take care of herself. That settled, will I be any less effective in helping her acclimatize?_ That seemed unlikely. Yang was learning the lessons she was trying to teach at a more-than-acceptable rate, and no amount of charming smiles, disarming puns, or intense gazes could stop Winter when she was in Teacher Mode.

At their current pace, they only had one more day of travel before they reached their destination. There, she could give Yang her final lesson, and hopefully some sense of closure. Assuming everything went well, they would only have to wait a half-day at most for pickup before Yang could be off to wherever the next part of her journey took her. The most practical solution would be to spend that time in cold, professional detachment.

 _Put your feelings aside and do your job. She’ll be fine once she leaves, and until then you can deal. Maybe you’ll see her again, sometime when it_ wouldn’ _t be incredibly inappropriate to ask her out…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

For once it seemed like the Grimm were leaving them alone. Winter had set a quick pace to take advantage of that fact, and Yang’s mind was quickly growing numb from the boredom of the jog. Winter had eschewed her glyphs, choosing instead to lead the way on foot. For several hours, Yang had had nothing to do but follow the white coat a few meters ahead of her.

It was growing close to midday when a voice in the back of her head whispered an idea that was perhaps less than advisable. It was stupidly macho, that was for sure, but it resonated with the parts of her that had been simmering with frustration.

Without even quite realizing what was doing, she picked up her pace and pulled up alongside Winter. The older huntress shot her a brief glance before returning her attention to the terrain ahead. Yang followed suit, lengthening her stride and pushing ahead at a loping run.

A few seconds later, as she’d hoped, she felt Winter catching up to run right by her side again. She sped up just enough to start getting ahead, and once again Winter responded in kind.

_All right, Schnee… let’s see how much of a competitive streak is behind that wall of ice._

She picked up the pace and didn’t stop until she was going full-tilt, leaving Winter suddenly looking at her shrinking back. She felt a surge of energy, as though shackles were falling from her legs, and her hair started to glow in time with the pulse in her veins. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw Winter coming up hard on her tail, an expression of mixed amusement and determination on her face.

Grinning madly, she pushed forward even harder.

Winter caught her about ten minutes later, when her first surge of energy was starting to fade. As she passed, Winter glanced down at her with a look that was knowing, but no less excited for it. Her cheeks were flushed, but she was definitely grinning. The look in her eye could not be mistaken.

_Game on._

As Winter’s long legs carried her ahead, Yang felt the tiredness that had begun to creep into her legs banished by a fresh burst of power. She kept pace, going as fast as she dared over the uneven ground, but was unable to re-establish a lead.

They pushed hard for hours, past midday and on into the afternoon. The boredom was seared away by the competition: for Yang, there was only the length of the gap between them, the optimal path through the next set of branches and roots, and the rush of energy whenever she caught the look in Winter’s eye.

A few hours past noon, Winter slowed to a halt, gesturing for Yang to do so as well. She quelled her instinct to keep going regardless. She dropped back against the nearest tree, panting. Adrenaline still pulsed through her veins, but her body was beginning to complain in earnest about not having the conditioning for this kind of sustained sprint.

Winter had similarly leaned against a nearby tree, out of breath. She drilled Yang with a stare that was instantly recognizable by anyone who had ever been “that student” for one of their teachers. It was the one that said, “ _don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”_ Yang tried and failed to suppress a grin.

With a flick of her wrist, Winter opened her scroll. She fired off a message, and Yang felt her own scroll buzz on her wrist. She checked it, finding yet another location marked on the map of the area. It was only about a kilometer away.

“That’s our last waypoint before we have to start keeping a low profile,” Winter said in between breaths, clearly straining to maintain a professional air. “Think you can manage that?”

The challenge in her voice could not have been clearer. Yang looked from her, to the direction of the waypoint, and back to her. Stepping away from the tree, she took a long second to indulge in some stretches that flexed a few muscles groups she was particularly proud of. Straightening, she looked Winter dead in the eye.

“Can you?”

There was a long moment of silence as Winter took a deep breath, got up off her tree, and cricked her neck.

And then they were off.

Yang was incandescent, her eyes a blazing red and her hair burning gold as she fired off toward the finish line. She sprinted as hard as she could, bulling through low branches by leading with her right arm. She didn’t dare to look at Winter; every ounce of focus had to be on maintaining her footing so that she never slowed down. She could still hear her opponent, though: Winter’s long, loping gait was distinctive as they moved through the brush. She had a slight lead… for the moment.

Had she not had a race to win, perhaps she would have reveled in the moment. The fluid movement, the wind whipping at her cheeks, the uninhibited pounding of her heart as she drove herself furiously forward… it all combined into a heady cocktail of endorphins. As it was, her mind was fully occupied with the task at hand: _win._

As always, though, burning brighter meant burning out eventually.

Neck-and-neck with only a hundred or so meters to go, Yang felt herself flagging. Anger and joy burned in her gut in equal measure, and she could hear herself yelling incoherently, summoning one last burst of energy. But Winter was putting on speed as well, each long stride carrying her a little bit farther ahead.

_No! No no no!_

There was light breaking through the trees: a clearing ahead, obviously the finish. Her heart hammered in her chest, her legs ached, breathing was an almost impossible task, and Winter was two steps ahead.

A terrible idea struck.

She powered forward with speed of desperation, her raw voice howling out one last cry of defiance. Winter was a step and a half ahead…

A step and a quarter…

Half a step…

In a burst of flame, Yang _dove._

She felt as though she was hanging in midair, suspended in the moment. Winter looked back over her shoulder, a confused look on her face. The clearing was still several steps away, but that didn’t matter as long as this worked…

The ground came up to meet her, and she caught it. Landing on her palms, she flipped her exhausted body up, around, and over, _pushing_ with all the strength her prosthetic arm could supply, sending her flying feet-first towards the goal.

She broke into the clearing a shin’s length ahead of Winter.

Much to her surprise, she landed on her feet. Her momentum carried her for a step and a half before she wiped out entirely, frantically grabbing at Winter for stability on the way down. They teetered in a confused tangle for a moment before gravity and momentum took over and brought them crashing to the ground.

The impact drove what little breath Yang had left from her lungs, leaving her seeing stars. She was vaguely aware that the earth was at her back and that something was lying atop her, but it wasn’t keeping her from breathing and could therefore wait, as far as her oxygen-deprived brain was concerned.

As her eyes refocused, she recognized the form on top of her: Winter’s hair was a mess, her bangs plastered messily over her eyes; her impeccable grace seemed to have left with all the breath in her lungs. Alarm bells rang distantly in Yang’s head, trying to let her know that she was much, much too close, but all she could focus on was the look on Winter’s face.

Far from being disoriented or unfocused after the fall, Winter was inches away from her and looked nothing less than _hungry._ She leaned forward…

_WHAT are you doing!?_

Yang jerked back to full awareness with a start, scuttling backwards on her elbows out from under Winter as fast as she could. She staggered to her feet, still breathing heavily. _That didn’t happen. Shit, no, it did. It totally did. What? Is she just delirious? I was. Yeah, we were just running hot and… and…_

Her thoughts ground to a halt as she watched Winter pick herself up. She was wobblier than Yang had ever seen her, bracing herself on a tree for support. “You, ah,” she said, not looking her way. “You did well. That move at the end, that was… quite good.”

A river of possible things to say coursed through Yang’s mind. Could she just ignore… whatever that had been? Should she force the issue? Would Winter even respond? _Think, Yang. She clearly wants to ignore it. And we’re still in the field, this is no time to be getting… entangled._

 _Okay. Not now. But… I can’t not know. Weiss, I’m sorry, but your sister’s amazing, and I think she might like me. I_ will _find out for sure when I have the chance._

She coughed, finally looking away from where Winter was recovering against a tree. “Thanks. I, uh, I’m doing a lot better thanks to you. It’s easier, y’know? More fluid. And I don’t think about it as much. So… yeah.” Her scroll buzzed.

“That’s the actual mission site,” Winter said, still out of breath and refusing to look her way. “We’re undercover from here on out, so get some rest. We move as soon as it’s dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	10. Chapter 10

_Don’t._

A less professional woman would have screamed to the heavens by now, but Winter kept her frustration contained. Yang was twitching fitfully in her sleep again, clearly distressed, and she wanted nothing more than for the young huntress to wake up in her embrace.

Ridiculous. Winter didn’t _hug_ on the best of occasions, and she wasn’t going to bend to her thrice-damned urges when it came to Yang now, not when they were so close to being done. The race had been enough of a mistake, the subsequent adrenaline-fueled moment an even greater one. She was infinitely glad Yang had disentangled them when she had.

She took a deep breath, focusing on the fortuitous distraction of the mission. A swift tap on Yang’s shoulder brought her to consciousness.

“Go time?” Yang asked, shaking away the last cobwebs.

“Yes. Basic hand signals only from here on until I say so. Stay on my tail, stay quiet, and keep your head.”

Yang nodded, zipping her lips, and Winter led the way through the brush.

It was slow going, as stealth demanded, but eventually they made it to the top of a rise overlooking the target area. Years ago, it had been chosen as a potentially viable candidate for a dust mine, but after the first few geological tests it had come up short and been quickly forgotten. As Yang shimmied up on her belly next to her, Winter waited… and waited…

There was a sudden burst of heat from the woman beside her. Turning towards her, she saw a pair of crimson eyes boring a hole in her skull. She had expected nothing less.

Even at this distance, the White Fang were quite distinctive.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, and they slid back from the edge. Yang was practically vibrating with suppressed emotion, but she’d stayed perfectly quiet. _She trusts you enough to follow your instructions, even when you pull this out on her,_ Winter thought to herself, not without a hint of pride. _Time to give her some catharsis._

They huddled low to the ground in the underbrush. “White Fang presence confirmed,” Winter whispered, keeping her eyes on her scroll.

“ _Please_ ,” Yang said, voice hoarse with tension, “tell me this isn’t just a recon.”

Winter let the plea hang in the air for a long moment before finally relenting. She looked Yang over, a smile tugging insistently at her lips.

“Recon would be a bit of a waste of our talents, don’t you think?”

~~~~~~~~

Yang exploded out of the cover of the trees in a screaming ball of fire, launched with all the speed her gauntlet and Winter’s glyph could give her.

_You’ve shown me you can be powerful. Now show me you can be controlled._

Winter’s last words before firing her off echoed in her head as she hit the first grunt in her path and kept moving. It was the most explicit lesson she’d gotten in the past week, and Yang had no intention of disappointing. The anger was there, certainly, as she drove her boot heel into the mask of a prone Faunus, but she kept it reined in. No more force was applied to any one target than strictly necessary, and the first half-dozen grunts went down hard as they fumbled with their weapons.

She’d seen immediately what Winter was doing by putting her up against the White Fang. It was her final exam, a chance to show that even under the most extreme circumstances, she could practice what she’d learned. However, she’d been right about her semblance before: she could no more fully disentangle her mind from her emotions than she could give up her other arm.

So she didn’t. She let herself revel in the rage-fueled strikes, felt savage satisfaction as she took a thug off his feet with a blast to the face, and exhilarated in the fight. But even while doing so, she applied the same attentiveness to the entire battlefield that she’d cultivated switching between her two arms. Preventing herself from getting fully lost in the fight, making sure she was covering all the angles, it all _did_ make the rush less pure, the highs not quite so joyous, but perhaps that was a good thing. It was certainly an effective thing: in the space of a minute she had dealt with every threat in a hundred-foot radius of her first takedown.

The inevitable alarms were starting to sound, however, and a beefy lieutenant was approaching her warily. He carried a sawn-off shotgun in one hand with the confidence of familiarity—not a complex weapon, but plenty deadly. He started to circle her slowly, trying to put her back to the rest of the camp.

She loosed a few blasts from Ember Celica to force him to dodge in the opposite direction, then darted forward to engage. They were clear enough that she could concentrate fully on the rhythm of the one-on-one encounter, and it became immediately clear that she needed to. She pumped two shots into the big man’s gut, and was rewarded with nothing more than a step back and angry growl. She rushed forward again, adding a blast to the face and using the momentum to twirl around, right arm cocked to strike.

He caught the metal fist in mid-swing, and in an instant the shotgun was in her face and firing. Her aura mostly dispersed the blast, but the force was still enough to force her head back nearly fast enough to give her whiplash. For a moment everything went white as her semblance fed off of the impact.

Breathing deeply, she forced herself to remain still for a long moment. Then, letting him keep his grip on her fist, she brought her head back around. She cracked her neck, first on one side, then the other, before finally looking him dead in the eye.

“I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?”

His grip on her hand faltered slightly.

Before he could squeeze the trigger again, she ducked under the arm holding her own, wrenching her shoulder around to free herself. She reversed the grip, twisting his arm around behind him. The power surged through her as he cried out, dropping the shotgun and trying to squirm away. Her other fist came down like a hammer, smashing into his elbow and forcing it to bend the wrong way.

He went down in a heap.

As soon as he hit the ground, she was surrounded by a series of clicks and whirrs, the unmistakable sounds of weapons being leveled. She finally looked around to find herself surrounded by two concentric circles of masked figures, each pointing something sharp, explosive, or both at her head.

_Right. Gonna have to play this carefully. Hopefully they’re all a little hesitant after what I did to this guy; if I…_

Her train of thought was interrupted by a cry from the outer circle, swiftly followed by one from the inner circle. She whirled around to see a glowing white King Taijitu barreling through the White Fang’s line, Winter dashing along behind it with both swords leveled. Winter breached the circle, skidding to a stop with her back to Yang’s as the ghostly snake dissipated.

“Good timing,” Yang remarked as the White Fang attempted to re-form ranks.

“You were doing fine, but I thought things might go quicker this way,” Winter replied. “Would you like to take half, or move through them together?”

Yang glanced over her shoulder at the other woman, surprised. Winter had never asked for her input before. “Er… together. Definitely together.”

“Very well. On my mark. _”_

A glyph appeared beneath them, summoning forth a veritable tornado of gleaming white birds. The circle’s cohesion slipped as the Fang batted away swooping, pecking phantoms, and in that moment a second glyph threw the pair of them into the crowd.

She hadn’t fought side-by-side with someone since the team had dissolved, but she fell right back into the old rhythms: covering her partner’s back, landing finishers where they created openings, and taking the hits to let her hit back harder. With Winter, it all clicked back into place like she’d never even left. The joy of the fight pulsed in her blood, and she could swear she saw Winter smiling with it as well.

Within a minute the Fang were fighting just to survive, within five they were retreating. They closed on the last straggler at the same time, Winter handily disarming him and stepping back. He had just enough time to look surprised before Yang stepped in to uppercut him into unconsciousness.

Breathing heavily, she spun to survey the battlefield, finding nothing else that needed punching. Her gaze finally landed on Winter, similarly flush with victory.

Not just victory.

The bottom dropped out of Yang’s stomach. Winter was looking at her the same way she had after their race, that same soul-scorching intensity and crystal-clear desire.

_What the hell are you waiting for?_

Yang wasn’t sure if she was referring to herself or Winter. Before she knew it, she had closed the gap between them, unsure of what she was expecting. Winter’s hands were suddenly on her shoulders, and her face was so, so close…

Her lips brushed Winter’s, and she leaned into the contact. The hands on her shoulders clutched at her more forcefully, pulling their bodies flush together. Her heart started to race even faster as a fresh surge of heat rushed through her.

Something seemed to come over Winter, and she pulled away with a start. The red tinge on her cheeks was unmistakable, though.

“What’s—“ Yang started.

“I’m sorry,” Winter said, her voice carefully neutral as she stepped further away. “That was… I was out of line.”

“It’s fine, I’m—“

“I said, _I’m sorry,_ ” Winter repeated, more forcefully. “I shouldn’t be… I wouldn’t want to…” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Now really isn’t the time. Help me restrain all these fools, would you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	11. Chapter 11

_Well, when_ is _the time?_

Zip-cuffing every White Fang member, administering a knockout drug that would keep them unconscious long enough for transport, and lugging all the bodies to a central location had been an arduous process, but Yang had been hopeful that at the end of it she and Winter would finally get to talk. Instead, every time she’d tried to say something that wasn’t strictly about the mission, Winter had given her a withering look that clammed her up immediately. All she could do was sit anxiously on a rock, feeling the tiredness catch up with her as she chased her thoughts around in circles.

 _What is she afraid of? The age difference? She’s only five years older, and yeah, probably a lot more mature, but that’s not that big a deal. Is it? Does Atlas have some kind of rule about relationships for their specialists? No, that can’t be it. Is it because I’m friends with her sister? I mean yeah, that would be a little awkward at family dinners, but it’s not like we’re sloppily making out in front of her. Does she think she’s taking advantage of me? That might be it, I_ was _kinda pathetically desperate for her approval. Vacuan Hostage Syndrome and all. But I’m better now! I recognize it, and I know it’s not the reason I want this. …Right?_

And so it went. Every minute, it seemed, she came up with another question that she could answer if Winter would just _talk_ to her. Her frustration grew in equal measure to her anxiety.

_This damn family._

After what seemed like an eternity, a pair of transports finally arrived to pick them and their prisoners up. They were spared the rigor of loading up the unconscious prisoners by a squad of Atlas soldiers, whose leader crisply saluted Winter and informed her that she was wanted immediately in a meeting with Ironwood back on the flagship.

They were promptly hustled onto the Bullhead. Winter’s crisp, cold professionalism had returned, and she refused to so much as catch Yang’s eye as they boarded. Yang felt a knife twist in her gut as the other woman headed straight to the cockpit, evicting the copilot and sealing the door behind her.

_She’s mad. At me? At herself?_

Yang sighed, sagging in the straps of her seat’s harness. She tried to think of Weiss, of the next step in her journey, but couldn’t get Winter out of her head. _They’re probably going to want me off the ship as soon as possible,_ she mused. _It’ll be our last chance to talk._ Winter would _have_ to give her at least a cursory explanation then.

She subsisted on that hope for the duration of the trip, trying desperately not to continually fret about why she was still being given the brush-off.

At long last, they docked. Yang pushed down her hopes for anything immediate; Winter’s meeting would undoubtedly take precedence. Winter, for her part, disembarked without so much as a glance in her direction. She watched her go ruefully before asking the displaced co-pilot if there were any instructions for her. She was directed to a holding area that, in any non-flying building, would have been called a break room.

At least there was coffee. She sat at a table, pretending to pay attention to her scroll and trying not to draw attention to herself as various soldiers came and went for an hour or so.

 _How long will their meeting take?_ She thought after an hour and a half had passed. _She’s gotta message me with some kind of instructions after it’s over, right? If I have to stay still any longer, I’m gonna combust… and it’s not like any of these non-cons will know the general’s schedule._ She continued flicking pointlessly through her scroll, remembering her meeting with Ironwood a week ago. It seemed like an entirely different Yang had been on board this ship last time…

With a start, she remembered that she _did_ know someone who had the general’s schedule. His secretary had sent her a message telling her where to bunk that first night on the ship. Frantically, she scrolled back through her contact history.

There it was. Trying not to rush, she tapped out a message in the most polite terms she could muster re-introducing herself and asking when Winter would get out of her meeting. She read it over several times before hitting the send key.

Her leg jittered uncontrollably as she waited. A minute passed… two… three…

_Bzzzzt._

She nearly dropped her scroll in her haste to open it up.

_“Ms. Xiao Long: Specialist Schnee’s meeting with the General ended an hour ago. The General would like to thank you for your help and has arranged for your departure to any location of your choosing within Atlas tomorrow afternoon. If you would like to speak to him personally, please let me know and I will attempt to fit you into his schedule.”_

Yang froze. She was being shipped out, quite literally. Winter was apparently going to put her on a ride towards Weiss without even saying goodbye. She was going to avoid the issue entirely and leave both of them hanging.

_Not if I have anything to say about it._

With a growl, she stood. If Winter insisted on walling her off, then she was going to find out what happened when someone put walls in front of Yang Xiao Long.

She stormed out of the room, stopping the first soldier she found to ask where specialists were quartered. In a red haze, she marched to the elevators. The decks ticked past excruciatingly slowly.

_This is a bad idea, Yang._

_Yeah, maybe. I don’t care._

_What if you’re wrong? What if you’re about to barge in on her when she’s actually not into you? Or has some really good reason you haven’t thought of yet?_

_Then she’ll yell at me, kick my ass, and I’ll still have my answer._

She found herself in a corridor with several larger cabins, each with a digital pad beside the door displaying the occupant’s name, rank, and unit. She scanned them as she passed: a Captain, a couple of Lieutenant Colonels, a Field Marshal…

Specialist Schnee.

She rapped her metal knuckles twice on the door, and stepped back to wait.

Ten seconds later, it slid open to reveal a very startled Winter. “Yang?”

Control was all well and good in the field, but she’d burned up all the restraint she had left. She let her frustration show, stomping forward until she and Winter were face-to-face. When Winter tried to take a step back, she followed, continuing until Winter was pressed up against the far wall of the small cabin.

“Back there, after the race, the fight… was that about me? Or was I just the closest warm body?”

Winter blinked, swallowing hard. It was an uncharacteristic show of nervousness, and it gave Yang hope that she wasn’t being a complete ass. If she were wrong, surely Winter would have put a boot in her gut as soon as she got in her personal space. Instead, Winter was refusing to make eye contact and attempting to edge out from her pinned position.

A metal hand slammed into the wall by her head, keeping her in place.

That finally got Winter to look at her. The patented Schnee scowl was etched across her brow, but at least she was meeting her head-on. “Yang. Move.”

“Not until I get an answer.”

“Move, or _you will be moved._ ”

“Try it. I’ve got a damn good handle on this thing now, thanks to you.”

Winter’s eye twitched. “You disrespectful, impudent… You have _no_ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is that a no?”

“I don’t…” Winter started, trailing off into a frustrated growl as she banged the wall behind her with a fist. “ _You need to not be here._ Go find Weiss; she could use your help about now.”

Yang pressed closer, bringing herself a hair’s breadth from direct contact. “Don’t think bringing her up is going to get you out of this. Right now it’s just about you, me, and whether or not I should still be holding back.”

She could practically hear Winter’s teeth grinding. “I don’t know what you think this is—“

“I _think_ it’s mutual,” Yang interrupted. “And I think I don’t give a shit about age gaps, or military regulations, or whatever it is that’s holding you back. If it’s me you want, I’m right here.”

She held Winter’s gaze, her heart beating in her ears.

Suddenly there were arms wrapped around her, and she was being crushed against the other woman as Winter’s mouth sealed itself over her own. She reciprocated immediately, pressing up into the kiss and seizing the huntress by the shoulders.

Winter’s hands roamed lower, cupping her ass and squeezing. Yang moaned into the kiss, rolling her hips against the firm grip. Finally, they broke apart for air, both breathing heavily.

“Why,” Winter asked, “must you be _so_ belligerent?” The grip on her rear tightened.

Yang couldn’t help but smile. “Only because you made me.” She craned her neck, nipping at Winter’s earlobe and getting a shiver in response. In between kisses planted along that long, pale neck, she whispered a challenge.

_“What else can you make me do?”_

For a moment, Winter was suddenly very still against her.

The next, she was damn near tackled onto the bed.

She laughed as Winter’s lips urgently explored her collarbone, feeling tension she hadn’t even noticed evaporating away. She shrugged quickly out of her jacket, eager to give Winter as much access to bare skin as she wanted. Her shirt and bra were stripped up and over her head with zero fanfare, letting Winter’s explorations roam uninhibited over her chest.

The feeling of gloves on her bare skin was new and unexpectedly pleasant. Still, she wanted to feel the heat of Winter’s hands on her, and let her hands slide down the older woman’s arms to her wrists. She tugged gently on the fabric, trying to get her point across.

Winter shucked both of them, stripping off her jacket at the same time. Two pairs of shoes also hit the floor in rapid succession. Yang went for Winter’s hands again, trying to guide them to where she wanted them.

As soon as she got close, however, there was a flurry of motion, and Yang found herself pinned with her hands above her head. Winter’s face was right above her, with that same hungry expression she’d seen in their adrenaline-filled moments in the field.

“You want me to _make_ you?” she breathed.

Yang could only grin up at her. “It’s not like I’m gonna _let_ you do whatever you want.” She pushed experimentally against the hands holding her, only to find the grip quite firm. “If it’s not a challenge, where’s the fun?” A brief flicker of doubt passed over Winter’s brow, but before she could say anything Yang pushed up to kiss her. “I’ll say stop if I _really_ don’t like it, ‘kay? But you haven’t given me anything I couldn’t deal with so far.”

The grip on her wrists tightened incrementally as Winter took a sharp breath in. “In that case,” she said, “you might find out some new things about me.”

Yang felt her grin widen. “Looking forward to it.”

As it turned out, Winter was lightning quick even without the aid of her glyphs. A few shifts of weight, a blur of limbs, and suddenly she had her legs around Yang’s midsection and her flesh-and-blood arm in her grasp, keeping it extended. That left her other hand free to do away with Yang’s pants and start working on the many layers of her own clothing.

Yang squirmed, testing the new dynamic. It was a strange mix of push and pull, of helping the person she was ostensibly competing with get her pants off before going back to trying to slip out of the hold. The legs that were wrapped around her shoulder, keeping her in place, seemed like a good place to start. She tugged at the complicated mess of stockings, pants, and garters with her free hand, and they were let down, Winter expertly maintaining a firm grip on her extended arm throughout the process. Hearing Winter’s other clothes join the pile on the floor, she went after the most ticklish part of the soles with a vengeance.

There was a strangled noise from Winter’s direction as she thrashed, turning them both over and gathering up Yang’s hands, pinning them held behind her back as Winter straddled her. Yang might have resisted, tried to take advantage of the shift, but she was too busy giggling. Winter’s voice in her ear, coupled with the feeling of her now-bare chest against her back, shut her up quickly.

“Bad move.”

Tucking one of her legs under both of Yang’s, Winter sat, effectively trapping her. A thigh pushed into her gut, forcing her to bend slightly at the waist. For a second, she was unsure what purpose this served, but then she felt a _smack_ on her elevated rear and everything was suddenly painfully, wonderfully clear. At the second _smack_ she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Only one hand was pinning her own, but she found that she suddenly rather didn’t feel like breaking away.

A few strikes later, Winter’s hand dipped lower, stroking her slowly and coming away wet. Yang made an incoherent noise, rolling her hips between her captor’s thighs. Another strike landed, delivering a clear message: _keep still._

That, however, was exactly the kind of order she was inclined to ignore. What was more, she could think of some very fun ways to do so. She pushed her own thigh towards Winter’s core, rubbing against the wetness she found there. The next smack landed with considerably lesser force, and the hand remained on her ass, tracing soothing caresses across the stinging flesh.

That was all well and good, but Yang had better ideas for where those fingers could be. She pushed harder, rolling her hips upwards as much as she could. Winter obliged her unspoken request, slipping her hand down to make slow, steady circles around her clit. Yang let out a guttural moan, only slightly exaggerated.

 _That’s it… you’ve totally got me, no need to hold on to my wrists any more… definitely not going to try anything…_ She moved her thigh in circles in time with Winter’s fingers. Above her, the huntress’ breathing grew slightly more ragged. _Just a little more…_

The grip on her wrists loosened fractionally.

She wrenched herself around, breaking Winter’s hold and surging up to tackle her. They landed in a tangle on the pillows. She hovered above her would-be captor, grinning uncontrollably.

Winter raised an eyebrow at her. “And here I thought you were having fu _uuhhhhnnn…”_ She trailed off as Yang’s thigh reasserted itself between her own.

Still grinning, Yang peppered kisses down her new lover’s chest, teasing at a nipple and getting a sharp intake of breath in return. “Oh, I was,” she purred. “But I had this mental image I just _had_ to make real…” Straightening, she shuffled forward until she was kneeling over Winter’s head. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Hands seized her thighs, yanking her down and holding her firmly. A shudder ran up her spine as Winter’s tongue got to work, drawing a long moan from her throat. Threading her fingers through snow-white hair, she tried to remain focused. That was far easier said than done, as Winter’s technical prowess apparently extended to far more than just swordplay and summons. As the assault eased off momentarily, Yang recovered enough to look down, and saw ice-blue eyes staring right back up at her, that same hungry look transformed into one of laser-focused lust.

She very nearly came on the spot.

Riding the high, she lost herself in the ebb and flow of sensation. She could hear herself growing louder with each roll of her hips, feel that piercing stare still locked on her. When Winter’s lips finally locked around her clit and _sucked_ , stars burst behind her eyes. Feeling that tongue continuing to attack her sensitive flesh, she attempted to get up, to get some separation from the heat of Winter’s mouth, but the fingers on her thighs tightened their grip, preventing her from moving.

“Winter, wait, I—“

Whatever she thought she was going to say was cut short as Winter sat up, toppling her backwards onto the mattress. However, her shoulders were all that touched down: she found herself dangling from Winter’s grip, her legs in the air with Winter’s head still buried between them. Blood rushed to her head as the older woman made it very clear that she was in no way done.

With nowhere to go, she settled for locking her legs around Winter’s head and enjoying the ride.

Innumerable shudders and shakes later, Winter finally pulled away, setting her down gently on the bed. Yang’s eyes had long since rolled back into her head, consigned to simply letting Winter show off her skills. Her white-haired goddess finally crashed down beside her, panting and massaging her jaw.

She had to giggle a bit at that, still trembling from the aftershocks of her last climax. “Did not, ah… did not expect that.”

“Mmmm,” Winter chuckled in reply. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

One deep breath later, Yang rolled over to face her. “Babe, give me two minutes and I will give you a _much_ better one.”

A pale eyebrow quirked at her. “Oh? You think you can impress me?”

It was a goad, and an obvious one at that, but no less effective for it. A delicious image formed in Yang’s mind. It would be a little difficult to pull off, but if she could…

She sat up, cracking her knuckles. “Gonna go ahead and say it now: I’m not sorry for how sore you’ll be tomorrow.”

She cut off Winter’s reply by scooping her up bodily and sitting her on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. She knelt to her immediate left, sealing her mouth around a nipple. Winter’s satisfied hum in response was nice, but not quite what she was going for. As her teeth and tongue coaxed her partner into relaxing bit by bit, her left hand pushed gently on Winter’s chest so that she slowly leaned back into empty space until she was almost ready to topple to the ground. A metal hand swooped up to the back of her head to support her. Winter gave her a nervous glance.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha,” Yang purred up at her. “Just trust me…”

For a second, she thought Winter might not have complete faith that she wouldn’t end up in a heap on the floor. But then, with a deep breath, she relaxed her upper body, giving her the control she was asking for.

She probably could have pulled this off with two regular arms at her peak, but even then she would have had concerns. You didn’t want your muscles to give out at the wrong time when holding someone over a drop, and trying to do something complex with the other hand at the same time was sure to make the job difficult to the point of risky. Not only did her mechanical arm have the strength, she didn’t have to worry about it fading: she could simply lock in place and nothing but her will or a dislocated shoulder would let that hand drop. Her other hand slid down between legs that spread readily at her touch, exposing the warmth between them to the cool air of the room.

Lightly, slowly, she let her fingers drag over Winter’s dripping center. It was quite something to see: the flesh-and-blood hand ghosting touches across her sensitive flesh while the metal one cradled her head. Two arms, two approaches, and one master in the middle, pushing Winter’s buttons in a way she never could have before.

 _Awesome on both sides,_ Yang thought. _Because both of them are_ mine.

_And right now, babe, so are you._

Her fingers started to work in steady, insistent circles, homing in on Winter’s most sensitive spot before spiraling outward again. In and out, in and out, all the while slowly lowering her hand until the dangling white tresses were touching the floor. It wasn’t the easiest position to hold, but the way Winter’s face slowly flushed as she was lowered, the way her eyes rolled back in her head as she shuddered limply in her grasp, were more than enough motivation to keep her going. When Winter was at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, her breathing quick and heavy, Yang finally had mercy.

Two fingers pushed inside, and the groan that followed was deep, throaty, and _wonderful_ to Yang’s ears. It was a sound she wanted to hear again and again, as often and as frequently as possible. A third finger joined the others as she started to move, working up to a pounding, relentless rhythm that had Winter gripping the sheets.

The rest of the world dropped away; to Yang there was only the woman in her arms and the laser focus on her task. She couldn’t be sure how long she kept up that driving pace, but eventually something broke through her concentration.

_“Please.”_

The note of desperation in Winter’s voice grabbed at her gut, making her thighs flutter as she tensed. _She’s not just doing what she wants,_ an awed voice said in her brain. _She’s actually offering me control._ At that moment, Winter’s eyes fluttered open to stare, half-lidded, into her own. The hazy, heady look shot another jolt right between her legs.

_I mean... it would be impolite not to._

Her thumb settled over Winter’s clit and made quick, tight circles. Winter almost thrashed out of her grip as her orgasm overtook her, half-moaning, half-shouting incoherent words that might have been Yang’s name. A new surge of determination pulsed through her at the sound, momentarily washing away the fatigue in her muscles. She picked up the pace just as Winter seemed to be coming down, slamming into her again and again.

The half-formed speech was abandoned as Winter toppled over the edge again, bucking her hips up into Yang’s hand in silent ecstasy. She seemed unable to even so much as breathe as the pleasure ripped through her, suspended in the moment as surely as she was suspended in Yang’s grasp.

Eventually, finally, she let out a shuddering breath that made every muscle in her body flutter. Yang slowed her pace, easing her down off of the high as she gradually brought the older huntress back up to a prone position, laying her down on the pillows.

Yang shook out her wrist as she withdrew her hand, trying to prevent the soreness from setting in. She propped herself up on her elbow and watched Winter slowly come back to reality.

It took a number of minutes, which was something that Yang would likely be high-fiving herself over for quite some time in its own right. When she had at last gathered her wits, Winter chuckled. It started low in her gut and worked its way up to what could almost be considered a giggle, redoubling in intensity when she saw Yang attempting to contain her massive grin. As the laugh faded, she smiled up at her.

“Very well then. Consider me impressed.”

Yang flopped down on the pillows, thrusting one fist in the air. “Yessssss.” She turned to look Winter directly in the eye, grinning broader than ever. “Nailed it.”

“I…” Winter began, a stupefied look on her face. Then she lapsed into laughter again. “Alright, yes, I will grant you that one.” She hooked an arm around her bedmate’s shoulders. “Just this once.”

“Mmmmm,” Yang hummed into her shoulder, feeling the fatigue start to catch up with her as the adrenaline and endorphins faded. She tugged the covers over the pair of them. “Wellllll,” she yawned, “hopefully you won’t kick me out of bed for it.”

The tiredness in Winter’s voice was as clear as the smile. “Sleep, little dragon. We both need it, and there will be time enough when we wake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


	12. Chapter 12

Yang awoke in a way she hadn’t in many months: finding arms wrapped loosely around her, gently buoying her up into consciousness. It was less sudden, less plagued by the instinct to fight or flee, than she would have expected from the quality of her sleep. Still, she couldn’t help tensing for a moment as Winter yawned behind her.

“Hey there.”

“Mmmm.” Languidly, Winter sat up, freeing Yang from her embrace as she stretched. Yang let her, wanting to postpone the inevitable question as long as possible, and enjoying that particular view was as good a reason as any.

Eventually, however, Winter’s gaze returned, inevitably, to her. She sighed, falling back against the pillows as she let the question go.

“So. Where do we go from here?”

“…That, I think,” came the reply, “is a conversation best had while wearing pants.”

They dressed in silence, barring the cacophony of thoughts running around Yang’s head.

 _What’s she going to say? What do I say? What do I even_ want _this to be? I definitely got my answers, is that enough? Do we just… go on our way and forget this ever happened? I don’t know if I could. If she wants this to be a one-time thing, I won’t hold it against her. Even if we_ do _both want something more committed, this is just about the worst set of circumstances—she’s in the military, for crying out loud, and I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do now that I’m back in fighting shape._

_…I just hope she doesn’t forget me._

Finally, they were both fully clothed. Winter turned her desk chair around to face the bed where Yang sat, trying not to fidget.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Here’s where we go,” Winter finally said. “You’re going to get on a ship. You’re going to find your friends and, if I had to guess, you’re all going to find trouble if it doesn’t find you first.

“You’ll fight, you’ll win; hopefully you’ll get some payback.” Winter’s eyes lingered on her arm. “And you’ll do me proud in the process.”

Yang shifted on the bed, unsure of what to say. “Er… thanks,” she managed. “But I wasn’t really looking for the mentor speech, y’know?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Winter’s mouth. “I know. But you know as well as I do that it’s the most important thing for me to say right now.” She stood, running her fingers gently through Yang’s hair to cup her face. “I have to thank you for making the first move; I would have let it rattle around my head forever if you hadn’t. But for now, this room is as far as _us_ goes.”

Yang tried, tried very hard, not to let the disappointment show on her face. It was the truth, of course, and she knew it. Their responsibilities would not wait, nor would they want them to. Still, she would have liked to stay in the moment a little longer.

Winter offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet. “After this, and there _will_ be an ‘after this’ if we have anything to say about it…” She took Yang’s other hand in hers as well. “I can’t say we’ll be in a position to pick up where we left off. But I will look forward to seeing you again, come what may.”

It wasn’t a promise of the world, or of much at all, but it was at least reassurance that it wasn’t the end of whatever they’d started, that Yang wouldn’t just be an anecdote. Gently, tentatively, she put her arms around her… mentor? Lover? Friend? She could figure out the semantics later. For now, like hell if she was letting someone go without hugging them goodbye. A farewell without hugs just wasn’t one Yang Xiao Long was interested in. “You too,” she said, squeezing lightly.

The hug was reciprocated. For a moment they stayed like that, still and quiet save for the sounds of their breathing. Then the moment had passed, and Yang pulled away.

“One last thing,” she said, plucking her scroll off her wrist. “I’m not leaving without a picture.”

Winter ran her hands through her hair, trying to push it into some semblance of order. “I was about to say the same. Anything in particular?”

“However you’d like me to remember you.” She sidled up next to the taller woman, making sure they were both in the frame.

Smiling a little, Winter crossed her arms at the camera, one eyebrow slightly raised. It was a fond look, but not without a little sarcasm, a little exasperation. To Yang, it looked like Winter the teacher, Winter the friend, and Winter the lover all rolled into one. She smiled as well, holding her metal hand up in a wave. The shutter clicked, and a couple taps later Winter’s scroll buzzed with an incoming message.

Replacing her scroll on her wrist, Yang headed for the door. She looked back as it opened. “Thanks. For everything. Best of luck.”

“To you as well.”

Yang paused in the doorway, looking from the woman watching her go to the image on her screen. “Looks like someone I admire,” she grinned. “Looking forward to seeing who she becomes.”

Then the door shut behind her, and Yang pointed her thoughts toward the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave a comment below, and if you have questions feel free to ask. It's fantastic to hear other insights and perspectives on your writing, and it makes my day to see people engaging with my stuff.


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